


Change in Routine

by aestivali



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: First Meetings, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Medical Experimentation, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-22 08:56:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12477948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aestivali/pseuds/aestivali
Summary: It doesn't matter how long this goes on, Shiro will never get used to it. Unless Ulaz can help him.





	Change in Routine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [meru](https://archiveofourown.org/users/meru/gifts).



He wakes on the table, and every cell in his body is screaming.

"Fuck," he says, and squeezes his eyes shut against the dim light.

"You're awake," mutters a voice nearby, and Shiro doesn't recognise it. It's not Haggar, or one of the druids - in fact, it sounds almost... kind.

Shiro tilts his head, even as his neck protests, and opens his eyes a tiny fraction.

There's a Galra standing there, dressed in armour, and he doesn't look at all familiar. He has a stripe of hair up his scalp, bordered on either side by two pale stripes on his skin, and a thin, almost handsome, face.

"W-Who are you?" mutters Shiro, when he finally gets his tongue to cooperate.

"That is not important," the stranger says after a moment, and then moves to pick up something from a nearby trolley.

Shiro instinctively tenses away from him; a learned habit after these recent months. "What are you doing?"

The Galra tilts his head. "I have been assigned to cleanup."

Shiro squints, trying to see what he has in his hand, fearing a blade or a needle or another object of terror - but instead, he sees the purple fingers are clutching a square of fabric. Clean, if he's not mistaken. And possibly slightly damp.

Shiro relaxes a little, for the moment. _So when he says cleanup, he doesn't mean taking out the trash._

"It will be easier," begins the stranger as he approaches, "if you do not move."

It sends an arc of pain fluttering down his face, but Shiro raises an eyebrow. "I'm not exactly going anywhere."

The stranger halts. _I keep forgetting,_ thinks Shiro. _Galra don't really get humour, do they._

"Still," the Galra says, raising the cloth, "I do not want to cause you undue pain."

"Well, that makes you the first then," snorts Shiro.

The Galra looks at him again. "My people may not be all that you imagine." And then, very gently, he wipes the cloth over Shiro's face.

Shiro gasps at the touch, as it sends fresh waves of pain through him. _What did they do to me this time? ...No, I don't want to know._ Instead he says, "Don't have much use for imagination here."

"I understand," says the Galra, softly touching his cheek, urging him to turn his head the other way. "You must keep your mind on surviving."

"Trust me," Shiro says bitterly, "I am."

"Good," says the stranger, moving down to clean Shiro's exposed hand. "You may yet have a purpose here."

"Besides being meat for the witch or the arena?" Shiro grunts.

"We all have our purpose," says the Galra, gently brushing over his fingers. It's the most tenderness he's felt since Kerberos.

Shiro twists against the restraints, and grasps his hand. "What's your name?"

The Galra pauses, then carefully extricates his hand. "My name is Ulaz," he says quietly.

"Ulaz," repeats Shiro, testing the strange sounds in his mouth. "Well, Ulaz, it's good to meet you."

Ulaz puts the cloth back on the trolley, a strange look on his face. It's hard to tell in the darkness, with his eyes still screaming, but Shiro thinks it might be a smile.

"This is not the first time we have met."

"Yeah?" says Shiro. "I think I'd remember you."

"You always say that," says Ulaz. He looks over at the drip still attached to Shiro's arm, before turning towards the door. "But you never do."

Shiro feels his stomach twist cold.


End file.
